Clara smiled. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
Good luck with that,he wanted to say, but didn’t. Liberty, so named because she was born on the Fourth of July, was haughty and overindulged, clearly used to people waiting on her hand and foot. But he would let Clara make up her own mind.
He looked up just as Libby walked into the kitchen in a pair of skintight jeans with silver embroidery and rhinestones on the back pockets and a sleeveless white tank that showed a hint of cleavage. Sam felt the same punch in the gut he’d experienced the moment she had stepped out of the jet and started down the metal stairs.
As if his world had tilted sideways.
He didn’t like it. He had a job to do, and it didn’t include being sidetracked by a spoiled, rich, city girl. No, he didn’t like it, but he was beginning to understand why Marty had sent her to the ranch. She needed a dose of reality, needed to come to grips with a future that no longer included her overprotective billionaire uncle, to prepare herself for a life she would be facing on her own.
“Libby, this ismy aunt Clara.”
Libby’s warm smile surprised him. “A pleasure to meet you,Mrs. Winslow.”
“It’s just Clara, dear. Or Aunt Clara. That’s what everyone calls me. And it’s nice to meet you, too. Your uncle always spokehighly of you.”
“I really miss him.”
“I’m sure you do. He was a good man. It was always a pleasure tohave him here.”
“How well did you know him?” She flicked a glance at Sam as if the question were actuallymeant for him.
“Martin came here every summer,” Clara answered. “Fourteen years in a row.” Her eyes sparkled. “I think he liked my cooking.”
Libby smiled. “He did love to eat.”
“Marty loved spending time at the ranch,” Sam said. “I think that’s why he wanted you to come, to discover the peace he found when he was here.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You called himMarty?” She had the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen, and the thickest black lashes. He wondered if they could possibly be real, then decided she was probably wearing alot of mascara.
“We were friends,”he said simply.
Libby shook her head. “It’s hard to imagine. No one ever called Martin HaleMarty.Not even his friends.”
“No one but you—is that whatyou’re saying?”
Her chin inched up. “That’s right. No one but me.” She glanced away, and he thought he caught the sheen of tears. It was probably just the lightin the kitchen.
“He never even mentioned this place,” Libby said. “He traveled a lot. Two weeks out of town was not unusual for him, but he never spoke about the Bridger Ranch.” She sighed. “It’s as if he were a different person when he was here.”
“I think hewasdifferent,” Sam said. “He told me once, these mountains were the only place he felt completely free.”
Libby walked over to the window and looked out at the distant peaks, a few still touched with snow even at this time of year. “It’s beautiful.”
Sam’s gaze followed hers.“Yeah, it is.”
Silence fell. It took a moment for him to realize his attention had strayed from the scenery to the womanstaring at it.
Anxious to get out of the kitchen and get his thoughts back where they belonged, Sam returnedto the subject.
“Part of your duties include helping Clara with breakfast and dinner. She’ll take care of the box lunches for the hands and any guests who want them while you clean the guest cabins. Once you’re finished, the rest of the afternoon is yours. Your evenings are free after supper is over and the dishes are cleaned up.”
One of her eyebrows arched, not golden like her hair, but darkened by a pencil. She was, after all, a makeup model. He wondered how much of her beauty was real and found himself wanting to find out.
“So that’s what...?” she asked. “About a twelve-hour workday? Maybe I should have my lawyer negotiateovertime pay.”
His lips twitched. Her uncle had had a sharp wit. Apparently his niece did, too. “What would normal overtime pay be for amakeup model?”
Her gaze sharpened. “How much did Marty tell you about me, anyway? Obviously you know a lot more of my background than I know of yours, which is nothing.”
